


Unfulfilled

by Ebyru



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: F/M, Het, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once she rises to power, nothing can ever be the same. There’s something Snow must do before it is completely settled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfulfilled

**Author's Note:**

> My friend kimberlelly , and I were fuming after the end of the film. So I wrote this as a UST cure. 
> 
> It is beta'd by me..which I guess you could consider un-beta'd. 
> 
> The writing of the sex is more artistic than explicit.

Hair as black as night.

Flowing through the cool breeze, free and untied, Eric reaches for a strand and touches it gingerly. Snow is not mindful of Eric. She is looking elsewhere, to a place far and off in the distance, where her crown means nothing, where her king needs not exist, where she can be herself and that alone would suffice. Her eyes land on him, not seeing, but searching for the answers she needs in order to survive.

 

Lips as red as rose, as blood.

Eric’s fingers slip through her hair, tracing her soft, full lips, hoping to leave his scent on Snow, the queen, so that the kingdom shall know to whom she once belonged. Her lips part on a sigh, but her gaze is still preoccupied. She wants to be out there battling. She has had a taste of the rush, and cannot bear being locked away – in a different place this time. Eric knows he can give her what she craves, but it is not his place to decide.

 

Skin as white as snow.

Cupping her face, careful not to disturb her tranquility, her contemplation, he peers into the depth of her eyes. She is akin a bird lost at sea, drowning in this world where she does not belong. Eric could save her. And he would succeed. Snow looks up into the huntsman’s gentle gaze, and she smiles. Her smooth skin crinkles, tugging near her eyes, around her lips, damaging the flawless beauty that she is – just for him.

 

It is a pity she cannot see herself as she sees him.

 

Eric has her attention now, and Snow wants to offer it solely to the huntsman. She shall not let her innocence, her purity, be wasted on a lesser man when Eric is here offering her his soul in its entirety on a plate.

 

She needs to be grounded, feel human, and be soiled in a way a king would never try. She needs his hands, strong and sure, bending her, moving her at his whim, and kneading into flesh, muscle and skin. Needing her with every scratch he leaves, every taste he takes, every bruise she sees once she awakes the next day.

 

And Eric’s smile confirms he understands; she won’t let any other man love her like he will tonight.

 

***

 

It’s late when they reach the castle. She gives Eric directions to her private chamber – a way to get in uninterrupted, unnoticed and quick as wit.

 

Snow is in bed, composed and decided, but inside a fire burns, a storm gusts and destroys all the strength she had built up. She is untouched; she knows not of pleasure with a man – how to give it, how to take it – Eric will see this at first glance and be disappointed with his queen. His life has been lain down for her many a times, but how can she repay him adequately if she has lived so little in comparison?

 

Eric arrives just as she had stood, her back to the door, a robe covering her naked skin. Snow turns to look upon this man – beautiful in his humanity – and he tips his head. Always so polite. He approaches, footsteps steady and purposeful, hiding something behind his back.

 

“For you.”

 

His hand uncovers the gift slowly. Snow watches in awe as a single, white rose lies in the palm of his large hand. It’s so captivating she almost forgets to take it from him. Snow does, after a moment of whispering her gratitude, and pricks her finger on one of the thorns. Eric takes her fingertip into his mouth, gaze unfaltering as her robe accidentally falls open. He sees only her eyes, her flushed cheeks, her plump, crimson lips. Nothing else matters.

 

So Snow decides then.

 

“Have me.”

 

Eric growls ferocious like a beast; an animal hungry for meat that only Snow has to offer. He lifts her off the ground easily, carrying her to her bed. Never once does he glance away from her face.

 

It is a connection they have had for weeks, months. It was never about the pleasures of the flesh, the softness of her skin; it was about honour and truth, loyalty and bravery. It was the finding of a kindred spirit, someone who you can hold and who can keep you in turn.

 

They tumble softly to her silk sheets, and Eric descends upon her lips, stealing every taste, teaching her the ways of this new desire. Snow whimpers when Eric nips her lips gently, and his hands fist into her hair, desperate to have her nearer, to keep her forever.

 

Snow shakes slightly, uncertain of where to touch, how to hold, what to give. Her body has never been explored, embraced with such minute precision, admired like she is more than simply the heir to her father’s kingdom.  

 

Eric pulls away, his tunic undone in the front, his pants hanging low on his hips. Snow wants this man. Fear of the unknown, is that what this is? Eric is _known_ ; he is her huntsman and would die for her in the blink of an eye. He would not dare lay claim to her – although that is what she wishes – and would much less attempt to harm her.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

Snow’s hand trembles when she cups Eric’s chin. The hair is brittle, harsh to the touch, but endearing. He is not pampered and spoiled; he is a real person, with real experiences. Eric leans into her small hand barely covering his face, his eyes falling shut. She explores further, following the bones of his cheeks, the edge of his chin, the shape of his lips. He kisses her fingertips, opening his eyes to watch as she continues.

 

His breath ghosts over her skin, and she drags him in for a deeper kiss. He will have to understand, to guess, that each kiss, each bite on his lip, every stroke of her tongue against his, the moans she gives only to him, that it all means – _yes, Eric, yes this is what I wish._

 

And their connection does not let Snow down.

 

Eric presses her into the bed easily with his impressive weight. His hands reach up to her shoulders, sliding down the thin fabric of her robe, leaving it beneath Snow and forgotten. She pulls at his tunic until it comes undone, and he breaks the kiss to throw it in a discarded corner of the room.

 

His touch is hesitant in places – her chest, her waist, her hips – because he knows of her age, of where she’s been locked away, of the isolation she has lived. Snow has not been stroked like this, but she knows what she wants. This gentle, warm touch is pleasant, but it will never be nearly enough.

 

“Harder.”

 

The huntsman she’s come to love fumbles with his pants, letting them fall carelessly somewhere on the bed. He is completely bare, just as Snow is, and still he has not taken her like she expected. His kisses bruise, they make Snow’s lips ache, but that is exactly right. No-one should ever want her, have her like he has. Eric will be the first, and hopefully last.

 

Eric grips her thighs and she spreads them slowly, granting him all the access, the permission he seeks. She does not repeat the earlier command, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes as to what she awaits of him. Blunt nails bite into the skin of her thighs and she arches, writhes – needs this.

 

Snow wraps one of her legs around his waist, urging him to continue. He trails wet kisses down her neck, distracting her as his hand paints her with crescents of red across her hip. His chest presses to hers, and the dark, curled hairs tickle and tease. His other hand finds her bosom, squeezing until she hardens, and she mewls with delight. Limbs tangle around him instinctively, and his hips thrust toward the heat of her purity like a moth drawn to light.

 

“Please.”

 

Snow will never beg because she knows Eric will always give. His kisses become frenzied, rushed and messy, and his large hand slips between her thighs, parting her lips and—

 

The sound that is produced, is it Eric or is it her own?

 

The sweet symphony of it, desperate and uninhibited, it’s a crescendo of pleas and moans, wet gasps, and soft sighs. Eric’s finger pushes in further and Snow moves nearer, driving the air from his lungs as her legs tighten around him. She moans, louder and louder, frantic, as his fingers slide in, twisting and playing in the mess she creates.

 

Her sounds are loud and clear, she notices. The others must have been from him.

 

Eric pulls his fingers out, and Snow cries in protest until she feels his manhood, the width of it, easing in inch by inch. She latches on to him; a hand on his firm behind, the other wrapped around the muscle of his bicep. He delves into her, merciful and yet, harder with each instance. Snow struggles for more, pushes against him, uses her feet on his lower back to drag him in deeper. The huntsman does not give in.

 

His pace quickens, but only once he knows she is ready, stretched enough to accommodate the girth of him. He is a robust man, and she is but a young woman – the title does not change the physiology she possesses.

 

Snow chants his name, shifts below him, scrapes his skin, and bites his neck, his shoulders. He is marked as the queen’s; no-one else is allowed to have him. Eric grunts; each slide is quick and slippery with her arousal.

 

 _It won’t be long_ , he thinks, but Snow clenches around him, forcing his mind to give in to the pleasure completely. His body demands to impale her aggressively. Snow, knowing her rebellious streak, probably wants this.

 

Instead, he’ll give her ecstasy; a fondness no man after him could ever give. Eric dips in to kiss her softly, tongue swirling around hers, devouring each of her rhythmic moans. One hand cups her breast, his palm filled with the firm flesh, and the other slithers between their bodies, searching for that point, that tiny key to bliss. And when he presses down with his thumb on that area—

 

Snow screams Eric’s name, convulsing around him as she climaxes, another wave of wetness dripping out between her legs. She clings to him, panting softly in his ear. He thrusts in deep at last, a blinding light forcing him to shut his eyes for fear of losing his sight. He spills inside Snow, the precious royal, and memorizes every second of it.

 

Her hair is messy and dark, sticking to her pale, sweat-covered skin, and her lips are parted and luscious, redder than ever. She smiles, chest heaving, but grabbing on to her huntsman in a silent demand to be forever by his side. Eric smiles drowsily in acceptance, and she hums in reply.

 

This is their moment, one that can never be taken away from them. He is hers, and her heart belongs only to him.

**Author's Note:**

> comments appreciated. :)


End file.
